


the art of keeping up

by sieges



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, High School, Inspired by The Half of It, Love Letters, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sappy, The Half Of It (2020) Elements, you don't have to watch the movie to read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sieges/pseuds/sieges
Summary: "Help me write a love letter," Osamu says.(Love & How to Make It, by Suna Rintarou and Miya Osamu.)
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 100
Kudos: 655
Collections: OsaSuna Week 2020, SunaOsa





	the art of keeping up

**Author's Note:**

> For OsaSuna Week Day 3: Touch, Autumn, Bastille's 4AM lyrics (+ bonus prompt: confession)
> 
> Though it’s tagged as The Half Of It Fusion and I was heavily inspired by it (even more so than my first fic for OsaSuna Week), only a couple of main elements are inspired by the movie + Osamu and Suna actually watch the movie, so they’re not actually living the events that transpire in the film. That being said, you don’t need to have watched The Half Of It to understand the story, but (1) you should _totally_ watch the movie and (2) it’s highly recommended that you at least watch [the trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-yhF7IScUE) to get a better feel of the fic’s themes. Of course, even if you don't, the fic won't necessarily be less confusing, but I've been told by my friend that the fic embodies the movie's themes, so it makes knowing at least a bit about the movie a better experience when reading this. Shout out to Dan for reading through this before it got published and giving me their input ehe.

_“never felt more comfortable,_ _  
__could never want for more when you’re near”_ _  
_—4am, bastille

* * *

On a Tuesday, after practice, Miya Osamu approaches Suna Rintarou and says, “Help me write a love letter.”

Rintarou stops tying his laces to look up at Osamu. He’d been sitting on the front steps of the indoor court building for a while and forgot why until he looked down and saw that his shoelaces were a bit loose and on the verge of being undone. The rest of the team have gone home, worn out from the day and craving warm shelter from the chilly weather. Even Atsumu had left, though not waiting for his brother hadn’t exactly been anything new. 

Only Rintarou and Osamu had stayed, but for different reasons. Rintarou knows why Osamu hadn’t gone home with his brother, but his face twists when he realizes he doesn’t know why _he’s_ still here. Whenever he plays, his mind morphs into something like a dartboard: unable to see anything beyond the colored spirals and the bullseye that taunts him to be hit. The board is volleyball and the bullseye is playing to the best of his ability—a proper receive, a strong block, a crafty spike—and it always takes him a while before he can come down and stop viewing the world through an obscure set of lenses. 

It doesn’t hit Rintarou that he hasn’t said anything until Osamu says again, “‘Tarou, help me write a love letter.”

Rintarou doesn’t even blink. “Back?”

This time, it’s Osamu’s face that twists into a confused expression. “What?”

“You want me to help you write a love letter back.”

“Why?”

“You got a confession, didn’t you?” Rintarou asks airily. “Just now. By the tree.” It's the campus’ largest tree, situated in between the indoor court and the soccer field, and the best way to tell when a season's at its peak. It's a common enough spot for confessions that no one goes there for any other reason. 

In their first year, Rintarou and Osamu had lunch under that tree shade for an entire month before a girl from Atsumu’s class approached them and asked if they were together in _that_ way. They were not—they were just classmates, teammates, friends; they were always together, but not in _that_ way. She said that the tree was a confession spot. Rintarou and Osamu haven’t eaten there since, but there are moments when Rintarou considers sitting under the tree with his lunch on his lap for on other reason than to see if Osamu will still sit beside him. 

“Watchin’ me?”

“As if.” Rintarou rolls his eyes. Confessions in the tree spot during fall paint a nice picture because they’re surrounded by the fallen leaves and a soft breeze, but it’s also not really worth it since the confessor and recipient will always leave the area with red noses and at least a leaf or two stuck on them. There’s none on Osamu though; Rintarou wonders if he shook off the leaf on the way here. “Atsumu just made a ruckus about it when you left the gym the minute practice was over.” 

“Well, you're right,” Osamu says, before fishing something out of his pocket. An envelope with a heart sticker at the center. It hasn’t been opened. “She was from Kosaku’s class. Thought it was for ‘Tsumu at first, ‘cause he’s the one always leechin’ off the guy, but apparently not.”

“Who is she?”

Osamu waves a hand. It’s not that cold, but Rintarou doesn’t get how Osamu can do that so easily when his own hands are starting to go numb, like all the cold he’s supposed to be feeling around him has been compressed and absorbed in his hands. “Nobody important enough for you to know.”

Rintarou frowns. “I kind of have to know her if you’re dating though.”

“Who says I said yes?” 

Rintarou stares at Osamu, trying to sort out his cluttered thoughts and hoping to find a clear cut answer in Osamu’s eyes because he isn’t saying anything helpful. Osamu simply stares back. The only thing Rintarou can find is a tinge of gray in his irises. Eventually, he says, “Can we have this conversation somewhere warmer? My hands are freezing.”

“Sure.” Osamu shrugs. Rintarou stands up and they start walking towards the campus gate. 

“Why do you need help writing a love letter?”

“Why do people write love letters?” 

Rintarou narrows his eyes. “Why are you avoiding the question?”

In a wry manner, Osamu cracks a smile. “You're fun to mess around with,” he simply says. “Obviously, it’s ‘cause I like someone.” 

Rubbing his hands together doesn’t soothe the coldness, Rintarou thinks, and that’s the only reason why he’s frowning. He wants to ask, but he also thinks that the less he knows, the better. “Then just tell them.”

Osamu blows a raspberry. “That’s too borin'.” 

“Love isn’t a game.”

“Love can be anythin’,” Osamu points out, a matter of fact. “And I ain’t sayin’ I won’t tell ‘em. But I wanna give a love letter too.”

“Are you that charmed by the one you received?”

“Shaddap. I haven’t even read it yet.” Rintarou knows. He eyes the letter from the corner of his eye, clutched in Osamu’s grip, tight enough to keep it from slipping but loose enough to not cause any creases. “But the gesture’s romantic. I wanna try it too.”

Rintarou snorts. “You make it sound like it’s the same thing as going on a new rollercoaster ride. Or trying to play volleyball with a handicap.”

“Isn’t it?” 

“Maybe.” Rintarou considers. “I’ve never written a love letter before. Don’t come to me for this kind of thing.”

“Yeah, but you're a genius, Rintarou.” Rintarou doesn’t trust that statement, because the only time Osamu ever says that is when he’s looking for an excuse to get away with doing something. “But also, even you should know that your hands have always been frigid as hell.”

“Thanks.” Rintarou lowers his hands, giving up on any attempt to try and warm them up. 

Osamu hums. “If you don’t know how to write a love letter, then at least we can learn it together.”

“Don’t get me involved in your shit.”

“It’s just one letter,” Osamu tells him. “I’ll let you go right after.” 

The temptation to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation is hard to fight off, but Rintarou manages. Atsumu and Osamu could not be any more different, but there are moments where their personalities overlap, sharing the same kind of excitement for what they love and the same brand of stubbornness to get their way. Rintarou makes a pointed effort to stay away from the twins’ schemes, but that’s really because it’s hard for him to say no. Osamu knows this, and he’s not going to stop pestering him about it until Rintarou says yes. 

“Whatever,” Rintarou ends up saying. “But I’m not guaranteeing anything in terms of quality.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn out great,” Osamu immediately replies, his certainty almost unnerving. “It’ll be so good they’ll shit their pants, that kind of reaction.”

Rintarou doesn’t ask if the love letter is to the girl he confessed to. It doesn’t seem likely, but it doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Osamu didn’t say yes, but he doesn’t seem to have said no either. Maybe he’s just postponing his reply so he can mimic her gesture and give her a love letter too, right under the tree, before saying he likes her back. The thought _is_ romantic when Rintarou thinks about it. 

It also makes sense as to why Rintarou has never known until now, even if he and Osamu are supposedly close. Sometimes you only realize you like someone after they admit they like you because that means seeing them in a different light. Maybe Osamu only realized he liked this girl after she said she liked him first. 

The sun still hangs in the sky, but the air around them doesn’t retain any of its heat. When Rintarou looks at him under this light, Osamu is purposely letting out deep exhales to try and see his breath in a small mist even though the weather isn’t chilly enough for that. Like this, he just looks like Miya Osamu. 

“You have disgusting humor,” Rintarou comments. “And there’s nothing romantic about shitting your pants.”

“‘Tarou, what did I just say? Love can be anythin’.”

The sharp breath Rintarou lets out isn’t a laugh. It isn’t. His nose crinkles. “Whatever.” It isn’t really any of his business. It’s just one letter, and afterward, he’s free. He doesn’t have to think about this sort of crap anymore. It’s fine. 

“Thanks for waitin’ for me, by the way,” Osamu says. “Even though your hands got cold ‘cause of it.”

Rintarou blinks, but Osamu isn’t looking at him anymore. _I wasn’t waiting for you._ He almost says. What comes out instead is, “Sure.”

They continue walking. Osamu holds onto the letter the entire time, but at some point, their hands brush against each other, intertwine, and don’t let go until it’s time to part. Rintarou’s hands are already warm even before he reaches the front steps of his house. 

* * *

When Rintarou gets to school the next morning, Osamu is passed out on his desk. Bored out of his mind, Rintarou drops his stuff off in his seat before making his way to their gym to see if he can get away with some early morning practice before school starts. 

There's a shortcut that involves going through the side if he wants to get to the court quicker, and he's already stretching his arms on the way in anticipation. Mornings have always been particularly chillier than most other times within the day, but his hands aren't cold yet and he's never really liked wearing gloves. He can borrow Gin’s if worse comes to worst. 

Rintarou is walking past the soccer field and reaching the back of the indoor court when someone grabs him the back of his uniform and yanks him back. He only barely manages not to stumble as firm hands grab him and force him to the wall. 

“What the—” He stops short when he comes face to face with Atsumu, pressing a finger to his lips to get him to be quiet. Rintarou narrows his eyes, but then he sees Kosaku right behind Atsumu, peeking from the corner to look at something. When Atsumu pulls his hand back, Rintarou says, in a hushed voice, “What are you doing?”

“Savin’ you from embarrassin' yourself,” Atsumu answers.

Kosaku slaps him harshly on the back. “Shh. You're too loud, Atsumu. Suna, you were gonna pass by the Confession Zone Zero.”

Rintarou blinks. “You mean the tree shade. Why are you calling it Confession Zone Zero?”

“‘Cause it’s the best spot ‘round school. Can’t even be ranked. It’s undefeated.”

“Right,” Rintarou says, doubtful. “Can I go? I wanna practice.” 

“No can do. The court’s locked. Keys are with Aran-kun and Kita-san, and they ain’t in school yet,” replies Atsumu. “‘Sides, there are more interestin’ things goin’ on.”

He beckons Rintarou with a hand gesture to peer past the building’s corner with him and Kosaku. Reluctantly, Rintarou ducks under his friends to look at what they’re intently observing. 

It’s nothing that’s really out of the ordinary—a boy and a girl, standing under the tree shade quickly, talking quietly to one another. The boy’s posture is the one that’s abashed though, not the girl, whose back is straightened and her hands are clasped together in front of her, the perfect picture of patience and politeness like she’s done this a thousand times. A boy confessing isn’t really anything new though; it’s just not as common as the girl being the one who initiates. This one kind of makes sense though—even Rintarou can admit she’s incredibly pretty. 

“I don’t get it,” Rintarou says quietly.

“That guy is Watanabe Daisuke, and the girl is Ito Yuna.”

“Okay,” Rintarou slowly says. The names mean nothing to him. 

“Suna, you never heard of her?” questions Kosaku. “ _Every guy_ on this campus knows about her. She’s literally the hottest girl in school! She’s a gymnast, the rep of the prefecture during national tournaments. Top-level. Outta everyone’s league, but it doesn’t stop people from tryin’. And she's super down-to-earth too. Really chill and fun to hang around with. She probably gets at least one confession a week.”

Being the sole prefectural representative for a tournament is cool, sure, and it makes sense why the guy is confessing. “Congrats to her then, I guess.” Rintarou still doesn’t get why they’re spying on this confession. “Oh. Kosaku, do you have a crush on her?”

Kosaku clenches his fist. “ _Everyone_ has a crush on her. Even the girls say holdin' her hand is the best 'cause it'll always be at the temperature that complements yours.” It’s not an answer. Rintarou thinks dully. In fact, it just raises more questions. 

It must be obvious that he still doesn’t get it because Atsumu briefly gazes down to give him an unimpressed look. “How can you call yourself ‘Samu’s best friend when you don’t even know the girl who confessed to him yesterday?”

“Wait, _Ito-san_ confessed to Osamu?” Kosaku hisses. “What the hell? _Why?_ He looks exactly like Atsumu.”

Rintarou just shrugs. Atsumu glares at Kosaku. “What does that mean, huh? You callin’ me ugly?”

“Maybe Ito-san just doesn’t like sewage water for a personality,” Rintarou interjects. He has a name now, at least, but even with more pieces to complete the puzzle, it’s hard to dwell on it when Kosaku and Atsumu are here and they’re just so _loud_. He’s surprised they haven’t been caught yet by Watanabe and Ito. 

“Wait. They’re sayin’ something.” Kosaku hushes them. Rintarou could barely hear the conversation from how far they are from the two earlier, but now it’s much clearer, like Watanabe and Ito raised their voices to their normal volume. 

“...I understand,” Watanabe is saying. “Like, I really do. And I don’t wanna come in between anythin' or confuse you if you're already thinkin' of someone else. I just—I just wanted you to know. There can’t be anythin' wrong about lettin' a girl know she’s loved, right?”

“Of course not,” Ito replies, tucking a dangling strand of hair behind her ear. Her nose scrunches cutely. “I really appreciate it. I do. And maybe if things were different, then maybe. But they aren’t, and I really like him,” She explains evenly. “But I’m grateful that you told me 'cause at least for a second, we were able to see that different road.”

“Whoa, that’s deep,” Atsumu breathes out, impressed. 

“Congratulations on being able to understand it,” Rintarou dryly remarks. 

Watanabe and Ito don’t say anything after that, but it takes them a few more seconds of silent staring before they part. Ito takes a step back, and Watanabe starts to turn his heel to walk in the opposite direction, but then he stops. 

He turns back to Ito and grabs her face to pull her into a harsh kiss. To their surprise, she kisses him back, hands resting on his broad shoulders before they separate. This time, she’s the one who turns and walks away, and she doesn’t look back. Watanabe just watches her as she leaves, but he doesn’t look heartbroken in the slightest. 

“I don’t get it,” Kosaku says when both Ito and Watanabe are completely gone. “She rejected him, but they still kissed?”

“They were havin’ some prolonged eye-contact too,” Atsumu inputs. “Almost like they were eye-fuckin’.”

Rintarou rolls his eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

“I wonder if she does that to all the people who confess to her,” wonders Atsumu. 

“No, she wouldn’t.” Kosaku defends. “She wouldn’t. ‘Cause if she did, then isn’t that kinda gross?”

“She confessed to my brother—doesn’t that say enough?” Atsumu scoffs. “Wait, do you think he kissed her? Or she kissed him? ‘Cause, y'know, she’s the one who approached ‘Samu.”

Slowly, Kosaku and Atsumu turn to Rintarou. “Suna,” Kosaku says. “You gotta ask him.”

“Why me?”

“‘Cause you're his classmate!”

“Dude, _you’re_ his brother.”

Atsumu huffs. “That asshole doesn’t tell me anythin’.”

“Your problem, man,” Rintarou says, standing up and starting to walk away. He’s had enough of these two, and it’s still morning. He might as well head back to his classroom. “Ask him yourselves. It’s not my business to know who he’s dating.” 

He’s still going to help Osamu with his love letter though. But it’s not like he has to tell Kosaku and Atsumu that, and judging from the bitter tone in Atsumu’s voice, he doubts he has to worry about him finding out. Osamu really doesn’t tell his brother anything, and Rintarou can’t really tell whether to be reassured at the prospect or not. 

“This is why you're a shit best friend, y'know!” Atsumu yells. 

Rintarou doesn’t even look back. Of course he’s a shit best friend. Why is he going to bother being something he doesn’t want to be?

* * *

Kosaku and Atsumu don’t ask Osamu about it. Rintarou isn't exactly surprised, because they've always wanted things to be done the easy way. In the end, he can't really be annoyed by their cowardice because that means they don't know any more than he does. And really, he's pretty content with not knowing much, even if it can't last for long.

 _It's just one letter_. Rintarou tells himself, and it sounds like a feeble attempt in trying to make him feel reassured about the situation. 

After practice, Osamu and Rintarou are the ones who split off from the rest to walk to Osamu’s house. Atsumu has been dragged off to Kosaku’s place because he's in dire need of boosting his grades and Kosaku is the only one among the second years with the best scores to take up the role of tutor. Osamu is a bit too glad to be rid of his brother for the afternoon, saying that no one’s going to be there to steal his scarf, except the cloth is stretched thin and loose from being wrapped around the _both_ of them, so Rintarou thinks the other doesn’t really mean what he says. 

Rintarou expects them to walk much closer to one another because of the scarf-sharing, but he finds that nothing has really changed. It probably has something to do with the fact that holding hands naturally requires having as little distance between them as possible, and they—

Well, they’re always kind of holding hands. Not in public, because then Atsumu would never shut up about it and they’d have to deal with the intense staring from their teammates and friends, but every time they’re alone and heading somewhere together. Hand-holding is an intimate gesture, but Rintarou thinks, in their case, it’s not that deep. Rintarou has cold hands. Osamu has warm ones. They started doing this in the winter of their first year when Rintarou forgot to bring gloves to the class’ outdoor activity of playing games in the snow but insisted on joining nonetheless. He would’ve almost gotten frostbite if not for the fact that Osamu bought him hot packs and then held his hands on the way back home. Then after that it kind of became a tradition—for Osamu to always hold Rintarou’s hands to help him come down from the freezing cold. 

(They’ve held hands during the summer season too, but since Rintarou can’t really explain that, he doesn’t dwell on it.)

Osamu has given up on trying to exhale misty breaths because the weather really isn't cold enough to frost the air, and Rintarou's hands aren't at below zero temperature. They're still holding hands though. This too, Rintarou can't explain, but this time, it's kind of hard to _not_ dwell on it when he feels like any second he feels like his palms can break out in a sweat, and then Osamu will realize that Rintarou is an asshole trying to take advantage of his furnace-like hands. 

_Mostly_ , they’ve been doing this long enough for Rintarou to get over any sort of weirdness the situation is. It’s practical, and neither of them mind, so it works. There’s nothing wrong with holding a friend’s hand. 

(Except if Kosaku or Gin or god forbid, _Atsumu_ , tried to hold his hand, Rintarou would probably snap their wrists and make sure to stay at least twenty feet away from them. 

But again, it’s not that deep.)

“You're awfully quiet,” says Osamu. 

Rintarou blinks. “That’s nothing new.”

“I know.” Osamu hums. “But I can tell you're thinkin’ of somethin’ real hard, so spill.” For good measure, he nudges him. Rintarou wants to shy away, but that involves letting go of Osamu’s hand, and he isn’t willing to do that. 

Rintarou just nods, but he doesn’t actually say anything until they’re already in the house and opening the door to Osamu and Atsumu’s room. He’s seen this room countless times, but he still wrinkles his nose at the unmade beds and the careless way Osamu just kicks away the clutter to the side so they have space on the floor. 

“You should be used to it by now,” Osamu says, clearly having caught Rintarou’s expression even though he’d been staring at the floor. 

“You told me you cleaned the room.”

“I did. And then ‘Tsumu made it messy all over again,” replies Osamu. “Can’t wait for the day I don’t have him for a damn roommate.”

Rintarou sits on the bottom bunk and watches Osamu pull out his laptop from underneath his pillow. Osamu is still on the floor, and he sits on his knees to turn on the device. As he watches Osamu type something in, Rintarou says, “The girl who confessed to you—Ito Yuna. Kosaku said she’s really popular. Is that why you didn’t tell me?”

“Oh, Yuna-chan?” He’s already on a first-name basis with her. Rintarou doesn’t think he should be surprised. Osamu’s face is carefully blank. “‘Cause I didn’t want you to make a big deal outta it.”

“Since when did I make a big deal out of things?”

“You are now,” Osamu says. Rintarou just kicks his side in response, unable to think of a better comeback. 

Rintarou flops down on the bed and stares at the bottom of Atsumu’s mattress. The portion that isn’t covered by the ridiculously red bed sheets shows that the mattress has pink fish patterns. “Saw Ito-san rejecting a confession. Because of you, most likely. But then before they were going to part ways, the guy kissed her and she kissed back.”

“So she likes him?” Osamu’s voice doesn’t betray anything—no concern, no hurt, no anger. Rintarou can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. 

“No, she likes _you_ ,” points out Rintarou. Osamu doesn’t deny him. “That’s why I don’t get why she did that.”

“I don’t either,” Osamu says. “Love is weird.” 

“You were so full of it yesterday. Where’d all that bravado go?”

“Shaddap,” huffs Osamu. Rintarou looks at him and grins wolfishly. “That’s why we’re gonna do some research.”

Rintarou sits up. “Research?”

Instead of replying, Osamu turns the laptop screen towards Rintarou. “A movie? Seriously?”

“Don’t rain on my parade, 'Tarou.” Osamu whines. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. I hear this one’s a real tearjerker.”

“How is that supposed to convince me?” Rintarou asks, but he’s sliding out of the bed anyway so they can watch from the floor and the laptop can be at their eye-level. Osamu moves to grab the beanbags situated at the corner of the room for them to sit. “Movies aren’t like real life, you know.”

Rintarou sits on the beanbag Osamu offers before the older sits on his own. “It’s not like I’m plannin’ on copyin’ ‘em entirely. We’re just gettin’ some pointers. References, y’know.” He waves a hand. 

“Inspiration?”

“That!” Osamu beams. It would be endearing if not for the fact that he starts leering right after. “‘Tarou, you're so smart.”

Rintarou kicks Osamu’s leg again. “Just start the damn movie.” 

* * *

As the last scene flickers to a complete blackout, signifying its end, Rintarou reaches down and picks up a few kernel corns that fell as they were eating and dumps them into one of the popcorn buckets. There are three, and Rintarou has never felt so full in his entire life. 

"I can't believe you made me watch an American movie." Rintarou eventually says. 

"Hm," Osamu replies distractedly. He’s trying to lick the butter off his fingers, trying to appear nonchalant and acting like the film hadn’t left this strange, heavy, almost tense atmosphere between them. 

Rintarou looks at Osamu, waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn’t, simply continuing the tedious task of sucking his fingers. There’s a sudden flare that surges through Rintarou, but he’s not sure what else to call it except irritation. 

The end credits roll. Rintarou pushes the popcorn buckets aside and pounces on Osamu. 

“What the fuck—” Osamu ends up getting pushed out of his beanbag and they’re sent tumbling to the ground. Osamu doesn’t hit his head, but he groans because his back took the brunt of the fall. He glares at Rintarou, who is on top of him and has him pinned down. “Are you a cat or somethin’? What the fuck was that for?”

Rintarou just looks at him, like he’s searching for something in Osamu’s eyes. He isn’t saying anything. Eventually, a look of clarity washes over Osamu, and he smirks. “Are you tryna look for ‘the look’ that the movie was talkin’ about?” 

The look. _How do you know she wants to be kissed?_ The protagonist asked. _She gives you a look_. The boy said. 

“Fuck off,” Rintarou says. 

“You're the one pinnin’ me down to the ground.”

Rintarou pulls back and stands up. “That movie was bullshit.”

“You're lyin’.” Osamu immediately accuses, sitting up. “I saw the way you were lookin’ at the screen. You were _totally_ into it.”

Rintarou blushes, but he’s not letting Osamu win this argument that easily. “Now who’s trying to look for ‘the look’?” 

Both of them are quiet. Then, Rintarou says, “That’s probably why Watanabe-san kissed Ito-san. She was giving him the look. Or something.”

“Or somethin’.” Osamu mimics. He lies back down on the floor. “See? You learned a thing or two. Wasn’t this a great idea?”

The movie was good. It was a bit messy and not everything was resolved, but it was good. It felt like actual high school—where you live your life trying to do everything and not really pushing through with it all. The dialogue was good, the songs were nice. The characters had a way with words, even if Rintarou thinks the subtitles probably didn’t capture their actual, English meanings as perfectly. The jock was funny, the main character was smart. The love interest was as pretty and popular as Ito Yuna and gave off a similar vibe to her. Rintarou doesn’t know whether or not Osamu had chosen the movie with that in mind though. 

There’s no way Rintarou is going to admit that he likes it though, and there’s some comfort to be found in the fact that he knows Osamu won’t either. But if Osamu expects him to be able to be as romantic and poetic as the main protagonist in writing love letters, then he’s an even bigger idiot than Rintarou thought. English and Literature are his weakest subjects. 

Rintarou flops back down on his beanbag and practically melts into the cushion. “Let’s just start on your letter already.”

They migrate downstairs to the dining area, where they typically do their homework together. After they spend nearly thirty minutes trying to wash off the oily buckets, Osamu gets his phone to start playing the movie’s entire soundtrack while Rintarou taps the pen he’s holding against the table, staring at the blank lined paper Osamu fished out and laid on the table. 

Rintarou’s brows knit together as he eyes the side of the paper. “Did you rip this off your notebook?”

“And what if I did?” Osamu says, eyes still trained on his phone. 

“Your crush is never going to say yes to you if you half-ass stuff like this.”

“Would you?” 

For a second, Rintarou thinks he heard wrong. “What?” 

Osamu looks at him with one eyebrow raised. “If someone confessed to you but just made the letter on some notebook page they ripped off, would you mind?” 

No, but— “This isn’t about me. This is about you.”

“And I’m tellin’ you, it’s fine. If they say no just ‘cause of that, then maybe we ain’t as compatible as I thought.” 

“If you don’t even know if you guys are compatible or not, then maybe you shouldn’t confess.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, ‘Tarou,” Osamu drawls, waving his hand. “Just help me try and tell ‘em how I feel through the letter.”

“Then give me something to work with,” Rintarou says, resting his chin on his palm. “What exactly do you want to say?”

“That I like them.” 

“Why?”

“‘Cause they’re pretty.” Osamu pauses. “And smart. And nice.”

"That's a bit too—wait." Rintarou narrows his eyes and shoots Osamu a dirty glare. “You’re just saying exactly what that guy in the movie said.” 

Osamu smirks and leans back on his chair. “What if I just quote stuff from the movie itself?”

“Even they said plagiarism isn’t attractive,” Rintarou points out. “When are you planning on giving this anyway?”

“Friday,” Osamu says, with a tone conveying so much finality that Rintarou feels like trying to argue with him that it’s too soon would just be a waste of time. “I’m confessin' on Friday.”

“Then start using your brain to think of something better to say, stupid,” Rintarou tells him. “It’s not like we have to follow the way the movie wrote their letters. You got the passing score for every poetry test we’ve ever had.”

Osamu sticks his tongue out at him. “At least I can speak English better than you.”

“English is worthless to me if I’m not leaving Japan. And I’m not,” Rintarou retorts. He turns back to the paper. Eventually, he pushes both the pen and the paper to Osamu. “Just list down what you like about them here. To confess—I think it means to reveal something you’d normally keep secret, so it’d be nice to say something else besides just liking someone.” He pauses. “Like telling them _why_.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea, ‘Tarou.” 

Rintarou exhales sharply through his nose, trying his best to sound annoyed that Osamu seems so ignorant to something _he_ wants to do, even though he really isn’t. “You should already know this. Ito-san gave you a love letter after all.”

“Well, yeah, but it was kinda different?” Osamu says, sounding unsure with himself. “Wait. I’ll show it to you.”

Rintarou’s eyes widen, and it definitely doesn’t feel like his heart is dropping. “Should I really be reading that?”

Osamu shrugs. “Why not?”

The thing is, Rintarou doesn’t want to read it, but he also can’t think of a good excuse to _not_ do it. Osamu will find it suspicious if Rintarou just says it makes him uncomfortable, after all, and then he might just realize that the reason it makes Rintarou uncomfortable is that he likes him, so there’s no way he’s going to want to read a letter about _someone else_ liking Osamu. 

Rintarou takes the damn letter when Osamu hands it to him. The paper smells of perfume and the margins are decorated with cute onigiri. 

_She must really like him._ Rintarou thinks, realizing they’re hand-drawn. When he steals a glance at Osamu, he only has one line written down before he drags his pen to the side and starts doodling what looks like a ball. It hits Rintarou that there’s a ball routine in gymnastics. _He probably likes her back._

The letter is pretty straightforward. Ito introduces who she is and how she got to know Osamu—initially from a friend of hers from the girls’ volleyball team, and then from watching a couple of their matches. She finds him handsome and likes the way he plays, with a skill that matches his twin’s even if he doesn’t get much recognition for it and a down-to-earth personality he shows on the court that doesn’t crave for the spotlight. They’ve never talked, but what admittedly drew her to him was how he didn’t treat people differently just because of their gender. Around boys or girls, he doesn’t change his personality. He still maintains an easy-going attitude. He can joke around with anyone, but remains level-headed and kind at his core. The only time he’s none of these is when he’s around his brother, but Ito says she understands that because she also has a half-sister who is her age. She says she wants to get to know him better and stop watching him from afar, but she’s patient enough to wait for him to let the confession sink in before giving her an answer. 

Below is her contact number, and the zeroes are drawn as onigiri. 

_She really likes him._ Rintarou thinks. _They’ve never talked, and she’s popular enough to get any guy she wants, but she wants him._

“What’s with that constipated face you're makin’, ‘Tarou?” Osamu asks. 

Rintarou startles and quickly schools his expression into something casual. “Nothing,” he says. “It’s just gross—how much she likes you. Even if you’ve never talked.”

Osamu snickers. “You sound like ‘Tsumu when you say that,” he notes. “For what it’s worth, it caught me off guard too. I didn’t think it was possible, likin’ someone you never even had a conversation with.”

Rintarou is still holding onto Ito’s letter, and it’s taking all his strength not to accidentally exert too much strength into his fingertips and crease it. “I think that’s how it works most of the time.”

“Really?” Osamu hums. “But I kinda prefer a romance with someone I already spend time with.”

Rintarou blinks. “Does that mean you already spent time with Ito-san?” 

Osamu doesn’t answer, glancing back down at the paper thoughtfully. There are only two options: he hasn’t, and just doesn’t want Rintarou to know for whatever reason (because of embarrassment? Or fear?), or he _has_ , and just doesn’t want Rintarou to know for whatever reason (because of embarrassment? Or fear?). 

Rintarou doesn’t like either possibility. 

If Osamu really doesn’t change his personality around people, no matter who they’re with, then it’ll be a matter of time before Ito lists down _infuriating_ as one of Osamu’s many distinct qualities. 

Rintarou sets the letter down just as Osamu abruptly says, “I think there’s a million ways to love someone.”

“What?”

“‘Cause love can be anythin’, y’know?” Osamu continues. “So love could be a million things.”

“Shouldn’t it be more?” asks Rintarou. “If love can be anything, then it can be limitless.”

“Yeah, but if you phrase it like that, then it becomes too far outta reach, almost unattainable. And then no one would wanna love. Why bother with somethin’ you have no chance of gettin’?” Osamu explains. “So if it had to be quantified, it’d be a million. ‘Cause it’s a big number sure, but at least y’know you’ll make it there at some point.”

He makes it sound like a million is just a hundred, and a hundred in itself is already hard to achieve. The only time Rintarou’s ever seen Osamu reach a hundred-mark in something is during Home Eco because he cooked the teacher’s favorite dish. 

“Probably,” Rintarou just agrees, because he’s better off just going along with whatever Osamu is rambling than trying to understand it. “Are you done?”

“Yup,” Osamu says, clicking the pen to pull the tip back in before showing him the paper. “100% original thoughts.”

Rintarou stares at the paper before saying, “This isn’t a recipe, Osamu. You can’t write these kinds of things in bullet points and phrases.”

“But they’re easier to read that way. Straight to the point. I don’t wanna beat ‘round the bush when I confess.”

“What happened to wanting to be romantic? This is the same thing as handing a grocery list,” Rintarou says, eyes skimming through the lines. Even in bullet-point, Osamu writes like he’s talking to the person. _Sharp eyes. The confidence in your movement. Your almost-freaky but honestly cool flexibility. How you always know what to say. Your athleticism. Your passion. The way you run your hand through your hair on a hot day. That little thing your nose does. Your boldness but also your sensibility. The supposed coldness you carry and the want to keep you warm. How there’s never a dull moment with you_. 

Despite Rintarou’s words, the content of the letter makes him feel something heavy settle in his stomach, a swirl of emotions he can pinpoint with ease, like memorizing hand signs for certain tactics to employ in matches or how much salt Osamu wants on his onigiri on good days and how much he wants on the bad ones. 

(An ounce of frustration. A tablespoon of jealousy. A cup of resignation. A pinch of longing.)

Assuming, _he probably likes her back_ is the inaccurate thought to make. _He definitely likes her back_ is the right one. 

“‘Tarou?” Osamu calls out. 

Rintarou blinks, and it takes him a second before he can pull his eyes away from the paper. “I guess this will do.” He doesn’t know how he manages to sound apathetic, like this is nothing more to him than just helping a friend out, but he manages. In the same way Ito has watched Osamu from afar, Osamu has done the same for her. “Just put it in paragraph-form. Like Ito-san’s. She—they’ll appreciate the effort. That way, it’ll be a real love letter. Romantic.”

That seems to buy Osamu over, because he says, “Okay.”

There are little doodles besides the points. Rintarou sees the ball Osamu had been drawing at the start, but there’s also something that looks like a fox right beside it, and then a large tree near the margins with a couple of leaves descending down to the line where the roots were drawn, some mid-air and others already on the ground. It takes Rintarou a beat for him to process that all the objects form one whole picture—of a fox looking at a ball under a tree shade in the season of autumn. Rintarou brushes a finger against the shaded parts and notices the smudge he gets on his fingertips. 

He turns to Osamu, about to say something, but then he stops when he notices that the other has been staring at him. Osamu quickly averts his eyes when he realizes that Rintarou is looking, too quick for the latter to try and decipher the meaning behind the gesture. He frowns but decides not to ask. Instead, he rubs two of his fingertips against one another in a lousy attempt to get rid of the smudge, but all it does is spread. He wonders if Ito will notice the amount of effort Osamu puts in too, before concluding that she probably will. It would be wrong for him to assume he knows her, but he can’t help but think the two of them are similar in certain ways, and that’s ultimately what’ll make them good together. 

“Just do that, and I think you’ll be fine,” Rintarou says, standing up. Through the kitchen window, he can see the sky gradually dimming. He didn’t bring gloves and Osamu won’t be there to warm his hands as he walks back home. It’s always coldest in the early morning and late night. “I need to go before it gets too late. My job’s done here anyway.”

“Not yet,” Osamu suddenly says.

Rintarou frowns at him. “What?”

“I still wanna do one last thing,” Osamu tells him. “Tomorrow, after practice. Shower in school so you won’t be greasy all over, ‘kay? And tell your parents you're comin’ home late.”

Rintarou raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” Osamu says. “I just wanna try somethin’ out. And don’t give me that look, ‘Tarou.” He grins. “‘Cause it kinda looks like you want me to kiss you.”

The blush is impossible to hide. “Shut up. I’m leaving.”

Osamu laughs. Rintarou storms out the door. When he gets home and his father asks why his face is red, Rintarou blames it on the weather.

* * *

Showering after training is a common practice to do in summer, and the only places in the campus that offer shower stalls are the ones in the indoor Olympic-sized lap pool. It’s indoor because it’s covered by a roof and it’s surrounded by walls, except the balcony isn’t an enclosed space and is easily accessible for people who aren’t already inside the building to enter and watch swimmers, as well as offering a clear view of the sky. Rintarou doesn’t remember the last time he washed up in school, and he thinks doing it in the chilly weather is stupid because he’s not _that_ sweaty. 

Osamu is insistent on making him stay late in Inarizaki High though, so he might as well try to wash off whatever dirt has clung to him to feel refreshed before having to deal with his friend’s whims. 

The air drops down by a few more degrees when Rintarou finally steps out of the bathroom, washed up and dressed in new clothes, bag slung over his shoulder and drying his hair with a towel. From the balcony area, he sees Osamu, leaning on the railings with a plastic bag dangling from his arm. They always end after school practice on Thursdays terribly late, so it makes sense for the moon to already be up even if Rintarou hadn’t been in the showers for long. 

“Hey,” Osamu says when Rintarou approaches him. “I brought dinner.”

Without any further warning, he lets the plastic bag slide from his arm and fall into Rintarou’s waiting arms. Onigiri and chuupet, the brands Rintarou can recognize because he’d seen them at the nearby corner store. “This isn’t dinner,” he says, but it’s not really a complaint, because he isn’t hungry anyway. “And we’re not supposed to eat in the pool.”

“Then come up to the balcony,” Osamu suggests, except Rintarou knows he doesn’t mean it because it’s a twenty-five step way up and Rintarou is too lazy to climb up when it’s all too easy to go down. 

They end up right in front of the swimming pool’s longer side, just by its edge, with Rintarou’s knees against his chest so his bare feet don’t touch the water even though Osamu’s are ankle-deep in. He swings them almost lazily as he munches on his onigiri and doesn’t offer any Rintarou any, not that he doesn’t expect it. The chuupet is left untouched because Rintarou would rather eat them in the morning. The guard that typically looks after this place is mysteriously gone, and though Osamu doesn’t explain why, Rintarou has a feeling it has something to do with bribery and pretending to be Atsumu because the entire staff has a weird soft spot for their setter despite his obnoxious personality. Despite how none of the ceiling lights are on, the ones underneath the pool are bright enough for them to see their surroundings easily and the way the water reflects on the walls, giving them an almost magical display and the feeling like they’re actually in the water. 

Osamu is too busy eating to really strike a conversation, and he doesn’t seem to mind the silence. Rintarou glances at him before turning to the pool in front of him. He’s never been here this late in the night, and under the moonlight, the water glistens like there’s something shiny and worthwhile below. He rubs his hands together absentmindedly, cold once more because of the autumn weather and the pool he’s too close by. 

“Please don’t tell me we’re here because you’re trying to plagiarize that scene in the movie,” Rintarou says at last. “The one where they go to the secret place of the pretty girl.”

“I ain’t plagiarizin’ anythin’.” Osamu insists. “‘S not like we’re in a forest or anythin’, and ‘sides, that scene was cute.” He’s only eaten three-fourths of the onigiri, but he’s wrapping it back in its plastic and shoving it in the bag, already done. It’s the first time Suna’s ever seen Osamu not finish something. “I wanted to see if I could make this a confessin’ spot. Or a datin’ one. I wanna be unique.”

“This place is ridiculously cold,” Rintarou complains. “If it were summer, sure, but you couldn’t have picked a worse time.”

“Hm, good thing I’m bundled up then.”

Rintarou glares at the varsity jacket draped on Osamu’s shoulders. Without even thinking, he says darkly, “If I were Ito-san and you said that here, I’m sure she’d push you into the pool without a second thought.”

“‘Tarou, if you wanted my jacket, you could’ve said so,” Osamu teases, and Rintarou opens his mouth to defend himself, but Osamu is already removing the said article of clothing and tossing it carelessly to the younger. “And Yuna-chan wouldn’t do that to me.”

Rintarou reluctantly wears the jacket, but he only slips one arm in because he still has his pride, even if Osamu doesn’t seem to care much about the fact that he won their little argument. “How do you know that? Through your shared text messages?”

It doesn’t sound bitter or anything. At least, he doesn’t think it does. Osamu gives him a funny look though, before he answers, almost like he’s talking to a cornered animal, “We talked. Over lunch.”

 _Now he answers my question from yesterday_. Rintarou thinks sullenly. He’s annoyed that Osamu is talking to him like something fragile and annoyed that he had lunch with her in the first place. “Is that where you’ve been disappearing off to every break?” They’ve probably been staying on the roof deck, because Yuna is Kosaku’s classmate and Rintarou hadn’t seen him there when he went to his friend’s classroom, and he hadn’t seen Osamu in any of the usual places he would be if he wasn’t with Atsumu or Rintarou either— _not_ that he’d been actively looking. “You’re doing everything in the wrong order if you’re already going on dates or planning them out before actually confessing anything.”

“I don’t think I am,” Osamu says, but he sounds thoughtful. “Love can be anythin’, remember?”

Rintarou lays his palm flat on the floor before leaning to the side, searching for something else to look at besides Osamu himself. “In your case, it’s been condensed into eleven points.”

“Hey, it’s not like I could put a million things in there. That’d be unrealistic. It wouldn’t fit in the paper,” argues Osamu, still kicking the water in a continuous forward-backward motion. “But y’know, love is also like tryna ride a new rollercoaster ride. Or tryna play volleyball with a handicap.” 

Rintarou purses his lips and scrunches his nose up in distaste. “Now you’re just mocking me. Love isn’t like that.”

“Then what’s love for you?”

Rintarou looks at the starting platforms of the lap pool before his eyes follow the dark blue lane markings drawn beneath all the water. In some angles, the water is clear like crystals; in others, it’s a bit fogged by the ripples caused by the faint breeze and the moonlight slipping through the open balcony area and into the building. 

Love is like a ripple, maybe. Rintarou thinks. Or moving against a current. Or putting effort into creating something that reminds you of that person who makes you feel love. Or realizing that two people can be perfect for each other but not wanting them to be together still. Or helping someone write a love letter even though you don’t want to. 

“Love is being willing to sacrifice a good painting for the chance at a great one,” Rintarou states solemnly.

Osamu starts to giggle. “ _Now_ who’s the one plagiarizin’.”

Rintarou can’t help but make a small smile. The jacket sleeve reaches past his wrist, covering half of his palm even if their size difference isn’t that big. Rintarou curls into the jacket and says, “I guess it’s like staring at a swimming pool on a cold evening and stupidly wondering how freezing it would be if you jumped right in.”

“Hm,” Osamu hums, considerate. “Only one way to find out.”

“What?”

But Osamu’s shirt and shorts are already off, and before Rintarou can even process it, the older is diving into the pool. Rintarou flinches at the loud splash his action causes, and then he shouts, “Osamu!”

A few seconds later, Osamu’s head pops out from the water. “What?”

Rintarou’s heart is beating hard against his chest, not all that different from the feeling he gets when he does a really good spike or does a really solid block. Not all that different from when Osamu would just take his hand without a word or make teasing or offhand remarks that make Rintarou’s hopeless brain tell him, _you have a chance_. “You’re insane.”

Osamu pushes the water in front of him away so he can move back. “Get in.”

Rintarou shakes his head. “No way.”

Osamu grins viciously. There’s the glint of a challenge in his eyes. “Too much of a chicken?”

“I’m not falling for your stupid taunts.”

“I’ll drag you in.” Osamu threatens, and then starts to move towards Rintarou, arms raised menacingly and wiggling his fingers to emphasize his threat. 

“Do that and I’ll kick you square in the face,” Rintarou warns, but Osamu is still heading his way. Rintarou sighs and starts to take off Osamu’s varsity jacket. “I hate you.”

Rintarou is also just in his boxers when he enters the pool, entrance a lot less grand than Osamu’s. He takes longer to emerge out the water though, taking advantage of the frantic way Osamu is starting to turn his head around to search for Rintarou out of worry by kicking at the water to give him an extra boost to tackle Osamu and grab him by the legs, causing him to fall back in. 

The pool isn’t that deep; it’s six and a half feet only, so they don’t have to worry about the possibility of one of them drowning as they scuffle underwater without a care in the world. Rintarou’s movements are a lot slower because of the water, but so are Osamu’s, and though he manages to avoid the kick Osamu tries to deliver to his face, he ends up loosening his grip on the other’s legs and Osamu immediately swims away. 

They both emerge out of the water heavily panting, but they’re both grinning. “You're insane,” is the first thing Osamu says, once he’s able to breathe properly. “What if I died?”

Rintarou rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. That wouldn’t happen.”

“Ah, ‘cause you’d save me, is that it?” Osamu teases, and if Rintarou’s breath quickens, it’s only because he needs more oxygen because he’d been underwater longer than he’s used to. 

“Fuck off.” He flicks some of the water right at Osamu’s face, but the latter dodges by ducking his head back in the water. 

Not even a second later, Osamu comes back out and says, “I’ll race you to the edge of the pool.” Rintarou hadn’t even noticed how far they’ve strayed from the area they’d been sitting in earlier, and now they’re right in the center. “First one to get to the end of the lane wins.” 

“You’re literally asking for another fight.”

Osamu lets out a chuckle, and it’s not denial. “Well, I haven’t swum in forever.” 

“Me neither,” Rintarou says. “But I’m still kicking your ass.”

“Ah, that so?” Osamu questions. “Ready then? Three—go!”

Before Rintarou can even react, Osamu quickly dives back in and freestyles his way to the edge. “You asshole!” Rintarou yells. “You’re supposed to countdown!” But Osamu isn’t listening, too proud of the headstart he acquired by cheating, leaving Rintarou with nothing to do but to go after him. 

Rintarou grabs Osamu’s ankle to try and drag him back, but Osamu easily shakes him off. The next time, Rintarou uses both arms and uses the motion of pulling the other back to propel himself forward, at least to close the gap between them by just a bit. They continue racing one another to the end, and even though the goal is objectively close by, Rintarou feels like the distance stretches on forever, and he loves it. 

When Rintarou is the one finally in the lead, Osamu gives up trying to out-speed him and manages to jump on him, causing Rintarou to sink into the water. Rintarou quickly turns around and pushes Osamu away, but Osamu has the upper hand and he grabs Rintarou’s wrists. The younger quickly twists to the side to harshly kick Osamu’s hip, and the latter finally lets him go. Rintarou swims back to the surface and Osamu follows him right after. 

They’re already at the end of the pool, and Osamu leans on the wall as the two of them try to catch their breath all over again. It's basically a tie. Rintarou doesn’t remember when was the last time he’s ever felt this exhausted but so _alive_ , doesn’t know if he’s _ever_ felt something like that before until this very moment. Osamu’s hair is patted down and clumped together from all the water its absorbed, and there are droplets spread out all over his face that Rintarou thinks he can mistake for sweat if he really tried. He used to always think Osamu was most handsome during a match, worn to his bones from rallies and receives and spikes but also exhilarated from the adrenaline, the cheers, the never-ending need to move. But Rintarou realizes now that all those moments where Osamu looked dazzling doesn’t compare to this. It probably never will. 

“You look like a wet rat,” Rintarou breathes out, but it doesn’t sound like an insult, and Osamu knows it. The elder flashes him a satisfied smirk before his expression morphs into something more somber. It makes Rintarou’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “Osamu?” 

“Y’know, I think love is divin’ to save a ball even if there’s a huge chance you won’t reach it,” Osamu tells him, voice quiet like its some kind of intimate admission. Rintarou stares at him. He can see the water’s reflection on the other’s face, and it’s a wondrous sight. “Or watchin’ someone from afar ‘till you realize you want 'em to be watchin’ you too.” 

Osamu’s eyes are heavy-lidded and there’s a certain kind of intensity in them that makes Rintarou’s breath hitch. He doesn’t know why he feels it’s familiar, that it means something, and he should _know_ what it means. 

“Or maybe—” says Osamu, and Rintarou thinks, _I could spend the rest of my life just looking at him_. It’s like his mind has become a dartboard all over again— unable to see anything past the glistening water, the faint puffs of air they exhale visible from the frigid of the weather and their surroundings, the content exhaustion in their bones and the remaining energy to still do _more_ , the silence of the world around them, and at the center of it all: Osamu, with his bright eyes and recklessness and weird, charming way with words that just hooks Rintarou in and pulls him even deeper. “Maybe it’s holdin’ someone’s hands for no other good reason than wantin’ to be held.”

It hits Rintarou, right then and there. 

_How do you know she wants to be kissed?_

_When you see that look,_ the movie said. _You make your move._

Without any hesitation, he surges forward and grabs Osamu’s face, pinning him to the wall and kissing him. 

Rintarou has never kissed anyone before, so he doesn’t know if he’s doing it right or not. But Osamu’s lips are ridiculously soft and Rintarou likes the way they slot into his perfectly. His grip on the other’s face loosens and he skims his fingers against Osamu’s jawline, and the feathery touch makes Osamu moan into his mouth before he reciprocates the harshness of the kiss in earnest, moving with the confidence that makes it feel like he’s done this before.

("Yuna-chan wouldn't do that to me," Osamu said. "We talked. Over lunch." 

Eleven points, all her qualities: Sharp eyes. The confident movement. The freaky cool flexibility. Always knowing what to say. Athleticism. Passion. Habits—running a hand through the hair, a particular nose wrinkle. Boldness and sensibility. The ability to easily complement another. How there's ever a dull moment. 

"I really like him," Ito had said, and she sounded so pained but certain and Rintarou _understood._ )

Rintarou snaps to his senses. He immediately pulls away. The unbridled desire and irrational impulse flicker out in an instant. 

He takes a large, sweeping step away from Osamu. The water sloshes with his movement and it sounds like a death sentence. 

An array of emotions flicker across Osamu’s face, too many for Rintarou to name, except for one, evident enough in the surprising way he asks, “‘Tarou?”

Osamu sounds... hurt. And that’s all Rintarou needs to confirm that he really fucked up. 

“I wasn’t supposed to do that,” Rintarou blurts out, the panic in him expanding exponentially as each second ticks back and it really _hits_ him, what exactly he had just done. “Shit. Shit. Fucking _shit_. I’m so—I’m so sorry. Just forget that kiss ever happened.”

“‘Tarou—”

“I swear, I didn’t intend for this to happen. I’m not here to get in the way of anything.” he insists. “You have to believe me. I don’t want—I’ll never want to ruin anything for you. And I didn’t—I didn’t mean—” He takes a deep breath, realizing he’s stammering too much and Osamu is just _looking_ at him, not doing anything. Rintarou wonders if Osamu thinks he’s a horrible person, trying to ruin something good for him. He feels a lump rise to his throat at the possibility. His words are just excuses; it doesn’t change what he’s done. “I’ll just leave. I’m sorry. _Fuck._ I’m really, really sorry, Osamu.”

Rintarou climbs out of the pool and quickly puts on his sweatpants and shirt. He hesitates for the briefest of moments when he sees Osamu’s varsity jacket, but he looks away and grabs his bag. The entire time, Rintarou feels Osamu’s gaze rest on him even if he doesn’t say a word. It hurts, but Rintarou probably deserves the silent treatment. He let his guard down and stopped thinking. He let his guard down and probably ruined one of the best things in his life for good. _There’s no turning back from this,_ he thinks. 

“I’m sorry,” Rintarou says one last time. “I really am.” 

The quiet is suffocating. If this were a movie, some kind of ballad would be playing as Rintarou walks away. Or maybe, if not a ballad, some kind of messed up cheerful tune, floating in the air to diffuse or emphasize the things left unsaid, the lack of things resolved. 

But life is not a movie, Rintarou isn’t living some kind of romantic drama as the main protagonist, and there’s only silence. His fingers have gone pruney because of the water and his hands are cold again. He curls his knuckles into his palm even if it doesn’t really ease the frigidness. No one’s ever going to warm them up again. 

It takes everything in him to not look back even once. 

* * *

At home, Rintarou’s phone buzzes. He knows it’s Osamu, because no one else texts or calls him past midnight, but despite the memory of what he just did a few hours ago a bit too fresh in his mind, Rintarou checks his phone anyway. 

**Miya Osamu:** **  
**I ain’t mad

Rintarou lets out a sigh of relief, but then Osamu sends another text. 

**Miya Osamu:** **  
**But meet me in the swimmin’ pool tomorrow mornin’  
I’m confessin’ there at 7am and I want you to be there  
‘Cause this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t help me  
You deserve to see how all your hard work paid off

Rintarou can’t tell if Osamu is being serious or not, if he’s only saying it because of what happened earlier or he really intended for Rintarou to watch all along. If Rintarou knew of this before what happened in the pool, he probably would’ve given Osamu some believable excuse the older would buy, but now— if he did that, Osamu would know it’s because Rintarou likes him. 

**You** :  
I’m sorry for kissing you

 **Miya Osamu:**  
I’ll forgive you if you go

It’s a test, and Rintarou knows it as well as Osamu does. It’s also an olive branch being offered to him. Osamu is giving him the chance to make up for ruining their relationship. It’s at the cost of Rintarou letting himself get hurt firsthand, and Osamu knows this, but this is the price Rintarou has to pay, his way of proving to Osamu that their friendship is more important than his feelings. 

_Love can be anythin’._ Osamu had said, and Rintarou thinks— 

Love is not like a ripple, or moving against a current, or staring at a swimming pool on a cold evening and stupidly wondering how freezing it would be if you jumped in. It’s more like sitting right outside the indoor court on a Tuesday afternoon, forgetting why you stayed behind even though it was really to wait for a best friend who never asked you to do it in the first place, just so you can walk home together. It’s more like saying yes when he asks you to help him give his heart to someone else as if he wants someone to do it back even though yours has been his to own all along. It’s more like knowing you’ll regret jumping into the pool but doing it anyway because you can’t regret the things you’ve done, only the things you didn’t do. 

Maybe that’s how it’s always been. Love can be anything because it isn’t concrete enough to be just one single thing. Loving Osamu is one million things but also nothing at all. It’s walking home with him and holding his hand and helping him write a love letter and staying behind at school to do whatever he wants to do, from receiving confessions to impromptu underwater adventures. And Osamu—he loves Rintarou too. It just happens to be that out of the one million ways Osamu loves him, none of them have been in the way Rintarou _truly_ wants. 

And that’s okay. There are still nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine ways left. 

**Osamu:** **  
**‘Tarou?

“You’re a real jerk, Osamu,” Rintarou says to his phone. “Of course I’ll go.” 

This is just one out of the million ways Rintarou loves Osamu, after all. 

* * *

That morning, Rintarou brings gloves. He brings his own varsity jacket and wears it properly. He eats the chuupet on the way to Inarizaki. He wonders if Osamu will expect him to record the confession. 

Rintarou arrives at the building fifteen minutes before seven. He doesn’t go down to the pool area just yet, peering over through the balcony first. He doesn’t see any sight of Osamu, but there is something just lying there right beside the pool, so he descends down the stairwell to see what it is. 

It only hits Rintarou, when he’s already standing there, that it’s Osamu’s varsity jacket. He picks it up, wondering idly if Osamu left it behind yesterday night. When he hovers the clothing close to his face, he can still catch a whiff of Osamu’s scent. 

"I thought you wouldn't show up."

Rintarou lowers the jacket as he turns around. Osamu is slowly walking towards him, hands in his pockets, moving at a leisurely pace. 

Without warning, Rintarou tosses Osamu's jacket to him, and the older catches it with ease. "I can't believe I'm here earlier than you to your own confession." He says, before starting to walk past him. "I'll be waiting by the balcony."

"Observin' from afar?"

"It wouldn't be as intimate if there were a third party so close by."

When Rintarou returns to the balcony though, Osamu has followed him. He watches as his friend sits down and slips his legs through the gaps of the railings, letting his feet dangle in the air. "You should be downstairs, waiting." Rintarou tells him. 

Osamu shrugs and swings his legs. His varsity jacket is tied around his waist. "I got five minutes ‘till it’s seven. I even got an alarm and all to tell me."

“Hm,” Rintarou says. His eyes find themselves fixated on Osamu’s shoes, the sudden urge to reach over and undo the laces to watch them slip off and fall to the pool area—hopefully to the pool itself. “What happened to your letter?”

“Right here,” Osamu replies, fishing out a folded piece of paper from one of the side pockets of his backpack. 

“No envelope?” Rintarou scrunches up his nose. “You’re lousy.”

“I couldn’t find any nice envelopes back home, okay?” Osamu defends himself. “What if I make it into an origami?”

“Then the letter will have creases all over.”

“But if it’s nice, then it’s fine.” Osamu nods to himself, liking his idea. “How many confessions have you seen that involved love letters made from paper airplanes?”

Rintarou is tempted to say that he doesn’t exactly make a habit of watching confessions—the one with Ito and Watanabe being the sole exception, and that’s mostly Kosaku and Atsumu’s fault. But he and Osamu are talking as they always have, and he’s scared that mentioning something like that is going to ruin the sort of understanding between them that Rintarou doesn’t _actually_ understand. He wants to make the most out of the normalcy they have until Ito comes over. He isn’t going to stop wanting to be Osamu’s friend just because he gets a girlfriend, but he might need some time to get used to it, so it’ll undoubtedly be weird between them. 

Rintarou glances down at the pool. The sun is growing brighter and brighter with each minute, reflected enough from the glow of the water. It _is_ a good confession spot. Deciding to humor Osamu instead, Rintarou just offers, “None.”

Osamu hums in content, already meticulously folding the paper into an airplane. The careful way his fingers move to straighten the folds and smoothen out any unwanted creases makes Rintarou realize that this is one of the ways Osamu loves—quietly but steadily. The kind you wouldn’t notice until you actually looked. 

_I really like him,_ Ito had said, and Rintarou thinks of the ridiculous amount of onigiri she had drawn on the letter. He doesn’t think he has to worry about whether or not she’ll see all these things about Osamu, because she probably already has, even from afar. 

Rintarou never thought it was possible to feel such appreciation and resentment to someone you’ve never even spoken to before. 

“Done,” Osamu declares, holding the paper airplane up by the bottom. He raises his arm and pretends to throw it, arm reclining back before moving it back forward. 

“I wonder if it flies,” Rintarou comments mildly. “And don’t throw it so carelessly. What if you drop it and it lands on the pool?”

“That won’t happen,” Osamu reassures him confidently, repeating the motion again, but this time exerting much more force in his movement. At the last second, his hold on the airplane slips, and it flies away from them before descending to the pool area. 

“Fuck.” They swear at the same time, and then they’re rushing downstairs to check on the letter. 

The paper plane is safely on the dry land, but only barely, an inch away from falling into the pool. Rintarou feels strangely winded by the time they make it downstairs even though the sprint hadn’t been strenuous in any way.

“You should’ve made a paper boat,” Rintarou tells Osamu. 

“Pretty sure it’d still get wet.” 

Rintarou rolls his eyes. “You’re the worst,” he says, watching Osamu slowly walk towards the letter as if scared that any wrong or rash movement would push it to the water. Leave it to Osamu to make him feel so worried over a love letter that isn’t even for him to begin with. Rintarou wonders if he’s always been so masochistic. “You know, it probably doesn’t matter how much Ito-san likes you. She’d say no if you gave her a soggy love letter.”

Osamu stops right in front of the airplane. “Who says it’s for Ito-san?”

It takes Rintarou a few seconds for him to process the words. Osamu’s phone suddenly blares, though it ends after five rings, like an alarm. “What?”

Osamu bends down to pick up the airplane. “Who says it’s for Ito-san?”

“Who else could it be for?” Rintarou demands. “Don’t tell me that there’s someone else.”

His back is still turned to Rintarou, but the latter can still catch the slight upward curve of Osamu’s lips, one that flits in between mocking and amused. “It's not." he tells him. "Are you that mad at me?”

This guy. “I’m not mad. I’m annoyed.”

“Why?”

“Because—” Rintarou stops and pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep exhale. Why is he annoyed, Osamu asks, as if it’s not possible for Rintarou to feel such an emotion. It’s such a stupid question. _Of course_ Rintarou is annoyed. “Because I really thought it was her.”

“What made you think that?”

“The drawings, how you spent all your break times yesterday with her,” Rintarou lists off, waving a hand. “The stuff you listed down. The eleven points. They’re about her.”

Osamu finally turns to him, and there’s a little crease between his brows. “They’re not about her,” he says. “They’re about you.” 

If Rintarou felt winded before, now it’s like all the breath has been knocked out of him. “What?”

“‘Tarou," Osamu states slowly. "I like you.”

Rintarou takes a step back. “No, you don’t,” he says. “Is this about yesterday? Osamu, I told you. It wasn’t—”

“It’s not.” Osamu huffs, starting to sound frustrated. But Rintarou is afraid. It must be plain on his face, because Osamu tugs at his hair hard, looking momentarily lost, before he sighs heavily. “Read it.”

Osamu throws the paper airplane towards him, and it gently lands on Rintarou’s hands. Rintarou hesitates. "Osamu—"

" _Read it_."

Rintarou unfolds the paper with cautious, trembling hands. 

Love (& How To Make It):

Ingredients:

  * ½ teaspoon of sharp eyes
  * 5 tablespoons of confident movement
  * ¼ cup of freaky but cool flexibility
  * ⅓ cup of always knowing what to say
  * ⅓ cup of athleticism
  * ⅓ cup of passion
  * 2 tablespoons of the way you run your hand through your hair on a hot day
  * A pinch of that thing your nose does
  * ¾ cups of boldness and sensibility
  * ½ of your cold hands (ft. ½ of my warm ones)
  * 3 cups of no dull moments with you 



Preparation Time: 16 years and counting  
Cooking Time: Every moment with him  
Result: Suna Rintarou

“Osamu,” Rintarou starts. To say he’s in disbelief is just the start of it. “This is a recipe.”

There’s a slight smile dancing on Osamu’s face. “Love can be anythin’, remember?” he reminds him, and he takes a step forward. Rintarou doesn’t move, even when Osamu closes the distance between them in a flash to stand right in front of him. “But it was never with Yuna-chan. When I spent the day with her, it was to ask on what to do ‘bout you. And she was fine with it, ‘cause all she really wanted was to know me better as a friend.”

“Oh,” Rintarou says, feeling numb. 

“It was never her,” Osamu continues. “And my love for you is a million things, but the paper could only fit eleven of them. It’s everythin’ that happened last night and also lyin’ and knowin’ you're really just bullshittin’ your way into someone’s heart ‘cause you want ‘em to be impressed with you,” He reaches for Rintarou’s hand. “But I really did mean it when I said that it was holdin’ someone’s hands for no other good reason than wantin’ to be held, and I really did mean it when I said I liked you.”

Rintarou lets out a shaky breath. A bit of mist appears. “I like you too,” he says softly, and he's actually saying the words. “I like you. _So much_. So don’t—” _Don’t leave me. Don’t stop liking me. Don’t_ — “Don’t stop holding my hand.”

Osamu smiles at him, and Rintarou likes _so_ many things about him, but he particularly likes the way Osamu’s eyes look right into his own, likes the warmth of his palm and the quirk of his lips. 

The film’s words don’t echo in his head, and Rintarou doesn’t even have to think twice. 

He leans forward and presses his mouth against Osamu’s. When Osamu kisses back, Rintarou doesn’t think of rollercoaster rides or playing volleyball. He doesn’t think of ripples or currents or swimming pools. He doesn’t think of a large tree with falling autumn leaves drifting down or waiting on chilly afternoons or love letters. 

He doesn’t think. He just feels. Love can be anything, after all, and this—

This is just one out of the million ways Suna Rintarou loves Miya Osamu. 

* * *

_“love isn’t patient or kind and humble. love is messy, and horrible, and selfish, and bold._ _  
__it’s not finding your perfect half. it’s trying, and reaching, and failing._  
 _love is being willing to ruin a good painting for the chance at a great one.”_  
—ellie chu, the half of it

**Author's Note:**

> (unbeta'd. i'll get back to this story later to actually edit it, but feel free to point out errors to me too!)
> 
> Here is the [carrd](https://softpunks.carrd.co/#thot) containing all anecdotes and notes regarding this fic for whoever is interested. Thank you so much for reading, and I'm at [@inarizakicks](https://twitter.com/inarizakicks) for twt and [@softpunks](https://softpunks.tumblr.com/) for tumblr.


End file.
